


Bad Coffee and Ugly Running Shoes

by alocalband



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alocalband/pseuds/alocalband
Summary: The Captain of the Providence Falconers lives in Bitty’s neighborhood.Well, more specifically, he lives somewhere within jogging distance of Bitty’s barely surviving first venture into small business ownership.During the preseason, he visits Bitty’s bakery at exactly 6:35 in the morning every weekday, without fail. He keeps his gorgeous blue eyes trained on anything and everything thatisn’tanother human being the entire time he’s there. And he only ever buys a cup of coffee.Bitty kind of hates him.





	Bad Coffee and Ugly Running Shoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ereshai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/gifts).



> I had so many ideas for the prompts you gave me, but this story is what ended up getting finished first. I hope you enjoy it! <3

The Captain of the Providence Falconers lives in Bitty’s neighborhood.

Well, more specifically, he lives somewhere within jogging distance of Bitty’s barely surviving first venture into small business ownership.

During the preseason, he visits Bitty’s bakery at exactly 6:35 in the morning every weekday, without fail. He keeps his gorgeous blue eyes trained on anything and everything that _isn’t_ another human being the entire time he’s there. And he only ever buys a cup of coffee.

Bitty kind of hates him.

“Why would you go to a place that specializes in baked goods _just to buy the only thing that isn’t_ _baked?_ ” he bemoans while Lardo quietly laughs at him. “That’s the whole dang point of the place!”

“He tips well,” Lardo offers.

“It’s not even good coffee!”

Lardo keeps laughing at him, picking at all the free samples her best friend status has garnered her for the day.

The late afternoon sunlight is streaming golden through the storefront windows in a way that makes the place look even cozier and more inviting than usual. Chow is wiping down tables and chatting with a couple of girls who’ve been eyeing him for the better part of an hour. Nurse and Poindexter are somewhere in the back doing inventory and taking care of the paperwork Bitty hates doing, and the fact that no loud crashing noises or furious shouting has been heard from them yet is either a very good sign or a very bad one.

Bitty loves it all, despite the financial struggles of this first year in business. Despite the worry that it might fail, or the headache that he gets when he attempts to do any sort of accounting rather than let the boys handle it, he really loves it. The bakery, the staff, the tint of the sunlight at this time of day. The smells of _his_ kitchen so ingrained in everything that the walls might as well be made of pie crust.

What Bitty doesn’t love is Jack Zimmermann.

Though why he’s chosen to fixate on this one customer is not something he’d like to analyze too deeply anytime soon. It certainly isn’t because of how well Zimmermann fills out a pair of running shorts. Or how adorably awkward he is as he stumbles over his words when he orders, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, like basic human interaction is the most terrifying thing in the world.

Which isn’t at all endearing. Really.

“To be fair, baked goods probably aren’t on his diet plan,” Lardo points out.

“Then why come in here at all?”

“Obviously just to torment you.”

Bitty huffs and crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly, just as the boys come out from the back.

“Yo, is Bits still moaning over Zimmermann? He usually wraps it up by about noon.” Nurse snickers, and Poindexter, trailing behind him, does an awful job of pretending he doesn’t laugh along with him.

“Oh hush you. The one celebrity this place is ever likely to see and he won’t even bother to try any of my baking. I’m allowed to be a little put out about it.”

“I don’t think it’s your baking that you’re so frustrated he won’t try.” Nurse waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Bitty can feel his cheeks heat with a blush even as he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Excuse you, _Derek_ , but unlike _some of us_ I gave up on pining away for straight boys back in high school.”

Nurse sputters so hard he chokes on his own spit, while Poindexter furrows his brow in oblivious confusion, and Lardo practically cackles around a mouthful of peach cobbler.

Chow approaches just then, grinning from ear to ear. “I think the girls at the table over there are gonna make this their bookclub’s new meet-up spot!” he exclaims. “They seem to really like pie!”

Bitty snorts and shakes his head fondly. He really does love this place. And perhaps loves this ridiculous little found family of his even more so.

***

Zimmermann returns right on schedule the next day, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead from the morning run that brought him here. It’s unfair how good he looks this early in the morning, post-workout, disgustingly sweaty and wearing the most atrocious yellow running shoes Bitty has ever seen. It’s unfair and, quite frankly, borderline offensive. Dude bro jocks who have something against quality baked goods should not be allowed to look like that, especially when clad in basketball shorts and a backwards snapback.

Bitty can’t believe any of this is doing it for him, but here he is anyway, trying not to stare. Or, heaven forbid, drool.

“Coffee?” he asks, keeping his gaze firmly on the cash register as he rings Zimmermann up. The slight edge to his usually customer service friendly voice is only to be expected due to the early hour. Despite keeping a baker’s hours, a morning person he is not.

“Oh. Um. Yes?” The man is so painfully awkward, and Bitty can’t tell if it’s because he genuinely hates conversing with his fellow man or if he just has something against Bitty personally.

When Bitty glances up, Zimmermann has got one hand holding the back of his neck, and the other tapping nervous fingers in a staccato rhythm against the countertop. His gaze dances around furtively, landing on literally anything that isn’t Bitty’s face.

Bitty sighs, long suffering. He only just barely manages to restrain himself from a _bless your heart_. “Sure thing, Mr. Zimmermann. That’ll be two-fifty.”

For the first time since he started coming in here, Zimmermann’s eyes snap to meet Bitty’s full on. It punches a small breath out of Bitty to be met with such intense blue without warning.

“You know who I am?”

The words don’t register for a second as Bitty tries not to fall a little in love with the _very straight and very rude famous hockey player_ come on Bittle get it together, currently standing before him.

“I-- Yes?”

“Oh.” He frowns.

Bitty frowns right back, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to figure out exactly what’s happening right now.

“You don’t, uh, want an autograph or anything, do you?”

“No,” Bitty says slowly. “Just the two-fifty. For the coffee.”

“Right.”

Zimmermann hands over exact change, and then places a twenty in the tip jar while Bitty pours him a to-go cup of the shitty drip coffee Bitty puts on when he first gets in every day. It’s honestly barely a step up from instant.

“Thank you,” Zimmermann says. Which is actually an improvement from the mild hum of acknowledgement and then quick exit Bitty generally gets from him.

“You’re welcome, Honey.”

The endearment is as easy as breathing, and Bitty knows he overuses it for what’s expected in Providence, Rhode Island, but it’s qa bit of a shock to see the word startle Zimmermann so much that he stumbles a little as he turns to leave.

Poindexter enters the bakery just as Zimmermann is exiting, but manages to keep his expression from going completely star-struck until the hockey legend is out the door. None of the boys who work for Bitty have been on the clock for a sighting before, and all of them are so enamored with the Falconers that Bitty’s surprised they haven’t yet set up camp to ambush the guy for selfies and insider info.

“Wow, his ass is even bigger in person.”

The dry, matter-of-fact way Poindexter presents this comment manages to snap Bitty out of his Zimmermann-induced trance as he breaks into a surprised laugh. “That it is.”

Poindexter shakes his head as though shaking away the thought, regards Bitty critically for a moment, and then puts a hand on Bitty’s shoulder with a commiserating sort of look. “Hey, don’t listen to, Nurse, alright? Complain all you want about the guy. I get it.”

Bitty raises a pointed eyebrow. “Oh, you do, do you?”

Poindexter blushes a little and shrugs. “Sometimes, with beautiful people... Well. You know. It’s just a lot easier to be angry at them than it is to admit you like them.”

It takes the rest of the day before Bitty realizes Poindexter was talking about himself as much as Bitty. Which is... interesting.

***

Hockey season starts, and as a slightly more than casual fan Bitty is well aware of this. He watches the games when he gets a chance, he has the app to keep up with scores. But it still takes him a couple hours of pretending not to be worried on the first morning that Zimmermann doesn’t show up at the bakery before he realizes that it’s because the Falconers are away for a game.

“Your boyfriend’s on a winning streak,” Nurse says with a smirk when he catches Bitty poring over his phone during the game against the Schooners instead of helping the rest of them close up the shop for the night.

Bitty throws an empty paper coffee cup at his head, and Nurse falls on his ass when he tries to dodge it, leaving Chow and Poindexter in hysterics.

When Zimmermann gets back home, he falls right back into the same routine. But it doesn’t help Bitty’s mood improve at all because the guy still won’t order anything other than coffee when he comes in. And, if anything, he seems even _more_ awkward and taciturn after their one brief exchange of words than before.

Bitty is about ready to pull his hair out in frustration, but pours it all into kneading the bread dough instead, and then vowing to just get over it already as he walks home at the end of each day.

His small studio a couple blocks away doesn’t have the kind of kitchen he can do anything worthwhile in, and the whole place feels far too cramped for him to want do much other than sleep in it, but he’s happy with it for now. Business is doing surprisingly well, if still walking that thin line between success and failure that has Bitty refusing to count his eggs just yet.

Maybe, one day, Bitty will have made enough of a name for himself, have accrued enough regulars and show for the tourists, that he’ll get to upgrade to a one-bedroom. Hell, maybe one day he’ll even find time to do more than run the bakery, eat a light supper in front of the television, and then pass out from exhaustion on his lumpy twin bed. Like, you know, find a boyfriend.

Lardo’s sporadic company is as much of a social life as Bitty has these days. They met in college and were fast friends, but it was pure luck that they both ended up in Providence after graduation. She manages a trendy art studio in the trendy part of town with a team of very trendy minions to do her bidding, and complains about it constantly.

“They’re all trustfund brats pretending to be cool,” she like to remind Bitty, he nose wrinkling in distaste. But, to be fair, her new boyfriend is apparently a rather successful lawyer and former trustfund brat, so she’s kinda one to talk. Not that Bitty’s going to point that out to her any time soon.

Tonight they’re watching the Providence home game together on Bitty’s laptop, which was entirely _Lardo’s_ idea, Bitty swears.

It’s a good game. The Falconers win easily and Zimmermann gets a hat trick. Jack Zimmermann on the ice is a thing of beauty, even Bitty can readily admit that much to himself and his friends.

Jack Zimmermann on camera _off_ the ice, however, is as painful to witness as when he’s trying to order his morning coffee without accidentally stepping into polite small talk. He’s stiff, obviously uncomfortable, and occasionally a little too gruff in his responses.

Watching the post-game interview with Lardo simultaneously makes Bitty want to cringe and to, like, give the poor guy a hug and a piece of pie. Not that Jack Zimmermann would ever accept either of them, especially not from Bitty, if his cold shoulder routine is any indication.

“Shitty went to school with him, you know,” Lardo says idly, paying more attention to her ice cream than the laptop screen.

Bitty nearly does a double take. “Wait, really? Jack Zimmermann went to Harvard?”

Lardo laughs. “No, they did undergrad together. At Samwell. According to Shitty they’re still ‘Besties with a capital BFF,’ but, you know Shitty. His tendency for exaggeration is unparalleled.”

Bitty doesn’t actually “know” Shitty, though. He knows what Lardo’s told him, but she and Shitty have only been dating for a couple of months now and unless she wants to bring him by the bakery, Bitty’s so busy it might be a few months more before he meets the guy.

Also, with a nickname like “Shitty,” Bitty’s a little... hesitant. He trusts Lardo’s judgement implicitly, but he never quite got over his old aversion to guys who sound like they’d fit right in with his father’s football team, and a guy with an expletive for a nickname is probably just that.

But, looking at Lardo’s soft gaze on her empty ice cream bowl as she mentions the guy makes Bitty feel bad for bbeing so cautious. It’s only been a couple months for the two of them, but Bitty knows that look. “You should bring Shitty around to the bakery sometime. Let me feed him a pie or two and get on his good side.”

“Are you kidding? He’d leave me for you in a heartbeat after tasting your strawberry rhubarb.”

“Now, I sincerely doubt that, based on how over the moon he seems whenever you talk about him.”

Lardo makes a show of rolling her eyes and scoffing, but she also blushes because Lardo is a secret softy. And Bitty loves her for it.

***

Bitty has a lot of strong suits, but patience is not one of them.

His patience runs out with Zimmermann about halfway through the season. Honestly Bitty’s surprised he lasted _that_ long.

“Please try the pie.”

Zimmermann does a double take on his way to the counter, still several feet away. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Just. I can’t do this anymore. Any flavor you want. On the house, even. _Please_.”

“I don’t--” Zimmermann blinks rapidly and looks like he’s just been handed a bomb to diffuse.

But Bitty is an expert at steamrolling over his problems, and so he just heads over to the display case with determination in his eyes. Or maybe desperation. The two are startlingly similar when it comes to how well they motivate him. “You seem like an apple pie kind of guy. Is apple alright? I’ll box it up and you can save it for a cheat day. I assume you’re allowed those? Of course you are, what am I saying. You can’t live on protein shakes alone, your tastebuds would fall off.”

Bitty cuts a slice of apple, and, since Zimmermann still hasn’t responded in the affirmative to that, cuts a slice of French Silk as well, just in case. He boxes both up neatly, and sets them on the counter by the register.

Zimmermann stares at him.

Bitty blinks back innocently, and then starts. “Oh! The coffee!” He pours a to-go cup of the usual bland, black drip that Zimmermann always buys. “On the house as well. Because I literally can’t take this anymore, Honey, you are gonna drive me to drink, I swear.”

A slight flush begins to color the apples of Zimmermann’s cheeks, which Bitty assumes is a reaction to being put on the spot like this. Or else, in response to the “Honey,” the second time Bitty’s used it on him. Bitty should really stop throwing those endearments out there so casually, but today he’s glad of the habit because a blushing Jack Zimmermann is beyond adorable.

Shit. He really needs to get a hold of himself already. _Never fall for a straight boy_ , Bitty silently reprimands himself as he watches Zimmermann struggle for words.

At last, he settles on a quiet, “Thanks?” that sounds like a question. And then he turns and hightails it out of there.

The entire encounter is pretty much the only thing on Bitty’s mind for the rest of the day. He hopes he didn’t scare the guy away, though maybe everything would be easier if he did.

“You alright?” Chow asks that afternoon, after the fourth time Bitty’s handed him the wrong slice of pie to serve.

Bitty shakes himself out of his thoughts and smiles. It’s a little forced, but his smiles will always be genuine when in the face of Chris Chow. “I am. Sorry, Honey. Just an off day.”

A crash from the back room startles them both, and Bitty cringes at the unintelligible shouting that follows it.

Chow sighs with a sad frown. “I thought they were doing better.”

So did Bitty, but maybe nothing is as cut and dry as it looks on the surface. Hell, Zimmermann didn’t throw that pie right back in Bitty’s face and storm out this morning, so who knows. “Don't worry too much about those two. They’ll sort it out with time.”

Chow looks unconvinced.

Bitty is rather unconvinced himself. But later that evening as he flips the sign on the door to closed, he spots Poindexter and Nurse through the window walking home together, their shoulders brushing with every step. And that traitorous romantic side of Bitty takes the moment and runs with it, a warmth that feels suspiciously like hope spilling over into his own fantasies about a potential love life.

Those kinds of fantasies won’t end well. He knows this. He’s going to get hurt and it will have all been his own fault. This is a rookie mistake he's letting himself make here. But he still holds onto that warmth all night anyway, smiling into his pillow as he imagines every _what if_ that he would normally keep locked up tight.

***

Shitty is nothing like Bitty imagined him.

“Bits!” the man shouts the moment he enters the shop, Lardo trailing behind him with a fond smirk and a roll of her eyes.

“Oh. Um. Hi!”

Shitty approaches the gap in the counter between the cash register and the display case as though he’s about to cross right through like he works here. He’s dressed like Bitty’s idea of a lawyer, albiet a little rumpled, but the mustache on his face, the twinkle in his eyes, and the loudly jovial tone of his voice all suggest something entirely less... professional. “Hey, is it cool if I hug you, brah? Lards said I have to ask first.”

Bitty’s eyebrows shoot up, and he glances at Lardo questioningly. She shrugs, but it’s clear she struggling not to smile.

Which is all the convincing Bitty needs, to be honest. He opens his arms wide. “Alright, hugging it is.”

Shitty practically tackles him, lifting Bitty clear into the air. “Gracious,” Bitty mutters once he’s set down, smoothing out his apron.

“I’d say he’s like this with everybody, but you’ve definitely got him dialing it up to a twelve instead of his usual eleven,” Lardo tells him.

Shitty just laughs. “Man, I have heard so much about you, Eric Bittle, I feel like I’ve known you for years. And if your pie is half as good as I've been told, you’re never getting rid of me.”

Bitty blushes, flattered, and quickly shoos the both of them away to a table so he can dish them up a couple plates and try to compose himself.

“So. Shitty. What lies has Lardo been telling you about me?” Bitty asks as he shoos Chow away from trying to help him serve his friends, and then joins them at their table for a minute.

“Only good things, Bits, I swear,” Lardo tells him around an open mouthful of pie like the heathen she is.

Shitty groans as he bites into his own slice, but as soon as he’s swallowed it all down he looks up sharply at Bitty and points his fork at him. “ _Actually_ , we have another mutual friend who’s been singing your praises lately. Tall, broad shouldered, face of an Adonis? Plays hockey like he was programmed to do it? He won’t shut up about you, it’s adorable.”

“He. What.” Bitty’s brain short circuits and then attempts a failed reboot. Nothing about the words coming out of Shitty’s mouth make a lick of sense.

As if the stars have decided to align for the first time in the entire history of Bitty’s admittedly pathetic romantic life, Jack Zimmermann chooses that moment to walk in through the front door. He’s dressed for a run, but one o’clock in the afternoon is a far cry from his usual early morning hour for this.

“Jacky boy!” Shitty shouts, waving him over to the table, and Bitty immediately stands up, ready to get back to work. He’s not sure he can do this, especially with an audience. Hell, he doesn’t even know what _this_ is.

Zimmermann approaches, but only nods at Shitty, keeping his eyes trained directly on where Bitty feel suddenly frozen to the spot. “Hey. Shits said he was stopping by today, so I thought I’d fit in another run. Say hi.”

Bitty nods his head dumbly.

Shitty holds his hand up in an amused wave. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Zimmermann says back, but doesn’t look over at him.

“Well, I should get back to--” Bitty starts, but Zimmermann interrupts with another step forward, shrinking the distance between them to barely a couple of feet.

“You were right,” he says. “About the apple.”

“Oh? Oh! I was? I mean. You liked it?”

“It was incredible,” he says, so earnestly that Bitty’s heart skips a beat. He had no idea this beautiful, awkward man could look so passionate and intense about something that wasn’t putting a puck into a net.

“I’m glad. Maybe now you’ll start ordering more than just the coffee on occasion.”

"I will." Zimmermann ducks his head. “I promise.”

Bitty’s heart is about to fly straight out of his chest.

And it almost gives out entirely at Zimmermann’s next words. “Would you-- Sorry, if this is too forward, but would you? Uh, with me? Drinks or something. Dinner preferably.”

A punch-drunk laugh escapes Bitty, and he puts a hand out to steady himself on the chair beside him. “Because you liked the pie?” he asks faintly.

“Because when you first opened up this place I tripped over my own feet on my run when I saw you through the window.”

Bitty’s death grip on the chair threatens to split the wood. From his seat beside that chair, Shitty is grinning a little manically at the both of them. Lardo is biting her lips like she’s holding back emotions far bigger than she’s usually able to repress, openly watching them as well.

Out of the corner of Bitty’s eye, Chow is talking to the group of girls who really did start meeting in the shop for their book club, and is enthusiastically going back and forth with one brunette in particular who has hearts in her eyes. Poindexter is balancing the cash in the register and smiling fondly as Nurse sticks close to his side and tries to trip up his count, looking like their back and forth bickering is the best thing to ever happen to him.

The light is golden through the big front windows, and Bitty feels not like something important is suddenly starting here, but like it’s been starting for some time now and is finally taking shape. A shape he recognizes from every sentimental fantasy he’s ever had about how his life could look.

“Mr. Zimmermann, I would love to.”

Zimmermann’s grin is blinding. He reaches a hand out as if to touch Bitty’s cheek, but then thinks better of it hallway there. Bitty reaches out before it falls back down and takes it in his own, holding it between them.

“Call me Jack,” Zimmermann says softly.

Bitty silently thanks every single aligned star in the whole gosh darn sky for awful drip coffee and ugly running shoes and whatever the hell else led them here. And he repeats back the name like it’s his new favorite thing to say. It just might be. “Alright. _Jack_.”


End file.
